Gold and Silver Days
by TheVulpineHero1
Summary: A collection of oneshots dealing with the Suguriverse, with a particular emphasis on the Sugihime pairing. Rated T for teasing.
1. Explorers

_A/N: Complementary to the collection with QP and friends already posted, this is the one dealing with the Suguri/Soraverse, and in particular, the Sugihime pairing. The first few of these will be short; I had a thing for doing pieces of exactly 500 words at the time._

* * *

Two figures wander under the shade of evergreen trees, streaks of silver and gold cast in silhouette by the slowly rising sun. The forest is awakening gradually as the light of the dawn brushes across its face; around them there is the shuffle of the beasts and the birds falling into the rhythm of the day.

"I feel like I've seen this place before," Suguri says, scratching her head. The world smells of morning dew; there are grass stains on her skirt.

"I shouldn't be surprised," Hime yawns. "But perhaps not from the ground, and most definitely not with me."

Her golden hair is a mess. For all her beauty, Hime is a graceless sleeper; she tosses and turns, excited by dreams of the day to come. This world, which Suguri has lived in for ten thousand years, is fresh and new to her, an ever expanding horizon. In a very small and quiet way, Suguri is jealous of that, but being able to see a brand new world being discovered isn't bad either. More by instinct than purpose, she runs her hands through Hime's hair, letting it tumble gently through her fingers until it falls into something approaching its natural arrangement.

"Thank you," Hime says, a wry smile playing across her lips. "I'm sure the squirrels will appreciate your brief foray into the world of hairdressing."

"…The squirrels only have to look at you for an hour. I'll be looking at you all day."

Hime bites back a teasing remark. Although the nominal purpose of the trip is for her to get to know her new home, a large part of it has been getting to know her friend. It isn't easy. There's ten thousand years of history to contemplate, hundreds of formative experiences, opinions, and knowledge. What she has learned thus far is that Suguri, even before she is a strong person, is a warm person – warmer, sometimes, than she can contain. Every so often she misspeaks, or reaches out just a touch too tenderly, and it betrays that warmth when her appearance doesn't.

"Are you done?" Hime asks, tilting her head back in Suguri's hands to look her friend in the face.

Suguri frowns, but her hands keep moving, always gentle, always calm. "Just a little more. The forest won't run away, you know."

"Oh? You know, I thought it might. I don't have much experience with forests, you know. I suppose we should catch up to it after a while, though."

Suguri's brow creases; it takes a moment of decision before she decides to play along. "Mm. We're both very fast."

"Apart from when we're doing hair."

"Yes, yes," Suguri says, and abruptly gives Hime's hair a quick ruffle to undo all her hard work. "Are you happy now?"

"Oh, my. Whatever will the squirrels think?"

"Let's go and ask them," Suguri replies, standing up.

"Won't they run?"

"Of course," Suguri says, reaching out a hand to help Hime up. "But, after all, we're very fast."

* * *

 _A/N: That was the first Sugihime piece I ever did, and, as it turned out, it wasn't the last. Hopefully I'll end up doing many more._


	2. Visionary

_A/N: This, like the first chapter, is exactly 500 words in body text because... I don't know. I'm weird. I also adore Hime more every time she appears in a story. This is also an example of my artifact titles syndrome, where I take a title as a prompt, then casually spiral away from it via tangents until the story has nothing to do with it._

* * *

It was a Monday, although Mondays had ceased to mean anything for either of them. Living so long threw time into a strange relief. There was the past, which stretched out so far that it could only be comprehended a little at a time; the future, potentially limitless; and the present, vivid and delightful in the moment. There was no place for Mondays in a timeline like that.

The weather, however, still had a measure of respect for Mondays, and had obliged tradition by throwing down lashings of rain since morning. It fell in fat, stinging drops across cobbled streets and trickled down from the roofs of the buildings that had been restored since the war.

Of course, Hime was overjoyed. She was rarely anything else, it seemed. Wet, miserable mornings provided an excuse to put on long coats and clomp around the streets in heavy boots, splashing in puddles and generally taking sensations that had long been denied to her on a starfarer's ship. In particular, Suguri found her love for heavy clothing baffling.

"Well, imagine wearing nothing heavier than a t-shirt for three thousand years. I've gotten so used to light clothes that heavy ones throw off my balance and make things interesting," Hime had said when asked about it.

Suguri, who had lived comfortably in the same zip-up jacket for four hundred years, didn't quite see the appeal. Neither, though, did she see the appeal of running around in the rain without an umbrella. She was half-tempted to take off and get above cloud level to wait out the showers, but then she'd miss Hime splashing around – and that was something she _did_ see the appeal of.

"Oh, Suguri! You look so silly with your hair plastered to your scalp like that!" Hime giggled, conveniently ignoring the fact that her own hair was scarcely any better. "Oh, I know! We should get hats together. I adore hats!"

"Mm? What kind?"

There was a moment as Hime processed the question, and failed to come up with a satisfactory answer. "Just... hats. In general. All of them, I suppose."

"I…see. Well, I'm sure there's a hat shop around here somewhere. Shall we get some lunch first?"

Hime came to a dead stop. She stood, straight-backed and dripping with rain, her mouth curved into a little 'o' of sudden, incredible inspiration.

"Suguri," she said, with an intensity she didn't even muster in the middle of pitched battle. "You are my best friend."

Suguri let out a low whistle. "That is _terrifying_."

"Earlier, I saw a shop selling ice cream–"

"Hime, that's a bad–"

"So once, just this _once_ –"

"Listen–"

"Can we have _ice cream_ for _lunch_?"

In her mind's eye, Suguri saw an ice cream dish piled high with as many scoops as would fit. She saw mounds of brightly coloured sprinkles. She saw eight different kinds of sauces, and sickly-sweet stomach aches.

With her real eye, she saw Hime pouting. She sighed.

"Strawberry or chocolate?"


	3. Domesticated

There were times in Suguri's life when speed was a necessity. Bullets, for example, did not have a tendency to hang around while you leisurely sauntered out of the way; An impending crisis did not allow you the time to drink your last sip of tea and nibble a granola bar before you set out.

Using the computer was another of these situations. Normally, Suguri used it to gather data about the state of the world's environment. While the world had more or less recovered from the Great War of the past, Suguri still had a duty to collate data, locate key areas of environmental crises, do what she could to stop them, and send back first-hand accounts of the severity when she couldn't.

The problem with using the computer was that Hime was bonded to it on a spiritual level and seemed to have a sixth sense that told her when it had been turned on. Within fifteen minutes of it being booted up, she would stop whatever she was doing and wander into the room as if drawn by magnetism. She would look at Suguri, look at the quietly humming machine on her lap, and say, in her most innocent and delighted voice: "Oh, you're using the computer? Can I see?"

The phenomenon, Suguri found, was very strong. Pots of rice had been left to burn, newspapers had gone unread, bowls of porridge had cooled into wintry oat deserts. For a few days Suguri had trialled the tactic of only using it when Hime was in the shower, but that only led to Hime meandering into the living room sopping wet, a towel clinging half-heartedly to her slender body, with complaints about having run out of some obscure bathroom necessity.

Upon discovering the computer, she would plop herself into the chair next to Suguri – curling into her body ever so slightly – and gaze at whatever data Suguri was looking at. She had a good mind for it, often remembering more than Suguri did herself. But after exactly twelve and a half minutes, without fail, she would shift ever so slightly closer and say:

"Suguri? May we watch videos of cats?"

And without fail, Suguri would sigh, look at the occasionally half-naked woman next to her, and open a video of a cat. (She was quite sure that Hime had seen every video of a cat still in existence. She was also quite sure Hime was capable of starting the computer and watching videos of cats by herself, but for some reason never had the desire to).

For the next hour or so, Hime would watch the screen with rapt attention, occasionally pausing to explain that cats were new and wonderful to her, spaceships being generally deprived of feline company. When the hour was done, she would rush off to tend to whatever calamity had ensued in her absence.

Suguri herself was not quite so fond of cats. But she found it just as fun to watch Hime instead.

* * *

 _A/N: Videos of cats intensify. I think (although I'm not sure) that this is the last 'short' one, and that the next few will be longer._


	4. Inevitable

_A/N: So, the joke behind the title of this story is that, in the past, I have had a huge obsession with writing scenes where two characters just kinda sit down for breakfast. It happens. In every fandom I touch, with every pairing, there will be one or more stories just devoted explicitly to breakfasting. I don't even mean to do it, usually. So, I figured I would get this pairing's obligatory breakfast out of the way early._

* * *

Eggs, milk, flour, butter; from those ingredients, the day is born. She glances down at the recipe, checking through the steps just one more time before she launches into action. It isn't the first time she's made pancakes, but she's had enough mishaps in the kitchen not to count her eggs before they're cooked.

The smell of hot fat in a heavy iron pan was never one she imagined she'd grow to appreciate, but there are many things about her new home that have surprised her, and pleasantly at that. Every morning, birdsong winds its way through the yew tree beside the house and into the living room; there's nothing in space that can compare to being woken so gently, so naturally. Even now, songbirds twitter outside the window, dipping and carving through the air more gracefully than even she can.

Cooking does not come naturally to her, not nearly as much as singing, or dancing, or war. There's a science to it, and an art, and she can never quite seem to combine the two, but her enthusiasm makes up for it – or so Suguri says. Really, she thinks Suguri is just happy to get breakfast at all. For all her unflappable skill in other areas, the girl makes a hapless chef, always just a little impatient and overly willing to take short cuts on the way to getting fed. Her omelettes are always speckled with long, silvery hair, her eggs are always overcooked, and she'll happily cut her toast with a beam sword if she can't find a knife. Hime quickly learned that if she wanted real meals, she'd be making them herself; today, like every morning, she dons her apron dutifully, if not with gusto.

With the pancake batter gently sizzling in the pan and the bacon safely in the oven, she allows her mind to drift a little towards other, less gratifying concerns. She'll need to set the table, which is usually easier said than done. Historically, home decoration is not a thing Suguri has afforded a lot of thought to, and as a result what little cutlery she has in an eclectic, unfathomable mix. They have more corkscrews than they do forks, and there are five different can-openers but only one sad, bent little silver teaspoon. Knives, however, seem to multiply in their drawers at an alarming rate.

The same design philosophy – or lack thereof – applies to the furniture. Alongside the cavernous beanbag chair currently serving as Hime's sleeping quarters, they have an old wicker chair, a barstool and a coffee table that has never seen a cup of coffee in its life – principally because Suguri insists that it belongs in the bathroom, for reasons that only make sense in an alternative universe. After a week of not-so-subtle prodding, Suguri had finally capitulated and brought home a loveseat so they could sit down together, and Hime had been very pleased until she lifted out the cushions and found a collection of coins that hadn't been minted in over a hundred years. Still, it was progress, and that was what counted.

Definitely their most attractive piece was the kitchen table, which had almost nothing wrong with it provided that you didn't check the underside for fire damage. Otherwise, it almost seemed a shame to cover it with a cloth; it was elmwood, hard and smooth and cool to the touch, with attractive flecks between the grain. Trees, and the gifts that they gave, were one of Hime's favourite things about a terrestrial lifestyle.

With the pancakes cooked (or a close approximation of it), she piles them onto the plates and sets out to capture some chairs. She takes the wicker chair for herself, and leaves the barstool for Suguri; it makes her feel a bit taller, and there's no weave to catch her hair in. She pours out the last of the milk for Suguri and some apple juice for herself, both served in whiskey glasses because of _course_ they don't have anything resembling a normal glass. By the time she's finished she can hear the familiar _bump, bump, bump_ of slippers coming down the stairs.

Suguri, she has learned, is not a morning person. Suguri is hardly even an afternoon person. If there's nothing catastrophic to motivate her, she spends her first two waking hours in a warm, contented daze, before eventually transitioning into the calm, slightly bemused state that Hime knew and loved. That wasn't, of course, to say that there weren't perks to Morning Suguri.

"G'morning," Suguri says as she wanders into the kitchen, her hands balled in the sleeves of her powder-blue pyjamas. It actually comes out as 'guurmaaahnnnin', because syllables are not a thing Suguri really endorses at the best of times and even less so when freshly awoken, but Hime has a keen ear and a passion for Suguri-whispering. There is one thing she can pronounce, though. "Hug."

Morning hugs were one of the pleasant surprises that Hime found herself with in her new home. Why Suguri demanded one every morning without fail was a mystery to her, and one she could care less about the answer to; it was far easier, and more pleasant, to let Suguri shuffle over to her, wrap her arms around her waist, and gently headbutt her shoulder. Hime's part of the hug was to gently run her hands through Suguri's long hair until the girl relaxed into the embrace.

"Hime," Suguri mumbles into her shoulder. "You smell of bacon."

Hime smiles, and rubs her cheeck against the top of Suguri's head. "Yes, well, bacon is delicious. You, on the other hand, smell of not showering."

"Muuuuuh. I'll do it after breakfast."

"Ahh. So childish," Hime teases, perhaps a little indulgently. In the morning Suguri acts like a kid, but she gets to be childish for the rest of the day.

"Nyuh. It takes too long. I wanna cut my hair."

"Well, I don't disagree. We could get matching hairstyles."

The thought goes without a reply; whatever strange desire propels Suguri to indiscriminate hugging has been temporarily sated, and now she has her stomach to attend to. Gently disentangling herself from Hime's arms, she floats over to the barstool (there is usually a no-flying pact while they're in the house, because it leads to a lot of collisions with lampshades, but Hime lets it slide), and perches precariously on top of it, her long silver hair hanging down behind her. She drinks half of the milk at a gulp, grimaces, and finishes off the rest; this part of Suguri's morning is, Hime has been told, Very Important. Before long a plate of pancakes has materialised in front of her, complete with a few crispy rashers of bacon as a bonus.

"How is it?" Hime asks, carefully dissecting her own pancakes with a knife. She's a little disappointed with how they turned out; she was going for fluffy, but ended up with dense instead.

"Mpfmf," Suguri replied, attacking her own plate with considerably less restraint.

"I'll take that as a passing grade, then. C minus, perhaps."

"Nuh. B."

The meal continues in relative quiet; because neither of them is all that good at cooking, they both have a healthy respect for whatever food does survive their ministrations. Besides, they have all day for conversation, and birdsong in the meantime. There is nothing wrong, Hime thinks, with a comfortable silence. Before long, Suguri is sitting back – as much as she can on a barstool, anyway – and letting the food work its way through her system. The process of waking up has begun.

"You know," Hime says, watching Suguri stretch, "I think breakfast is one of the planetside traditions I wish we'd kept most in when we went to space. Everybody just ate when they felt like it, there."

Suguri yawns, and hops down from the barstool. "Mm. I think it's one of my favourite traditions now, too. I'll get the plates."

Hime smiles, but there is just a touch of steel behind it. "Oh no, you don't. I think _I_ shall get the plates, and _you_ can get a shower. You smell fine right now, but you'd smell better with some of that body wash I picked up the other day."

"Muurgh. Fine," Suguri says, wearing what seems dangerously close to a pout. "I'll see you in an hour or so."

Actually, it's usually an hour and a half, but she can dream. Before she walks out of the kitchen, Suguri turns, takes in Hime's golden hair and glowing smile, and remembers that her mornings were not always so; that once upon a time there was no sound, and breakfast was a slice of bread with nothing on it.

"Hime. Thank you for cooking for me. I'd like it if you'd cook for me tomorrow, too."

"And the day after that, and the day after that... I'll be a respectable chef in no time," Hime smiles. "It is, as always, a pleasure."

Their gazes meet, and for a moment Suguri feels a warmth that has nothing to do with a full belly or the sunshine streaming in from the window. She feels herself waking up, her mind whirring into motion to really start the day.

"Wait," she says, slowly. "Hime?"

"Yes?"

As the haze of sleep lifts, Suguri's placid smile drops a little; her eyes widen as she checks and re-checks what she's seeing. Bare shoulders, exposed legs. Her fingertips vaguely recall the feel of warm skin. "Uh. Well. Are you, um, wearing anything, under that apron?"

"Ah. I was wondering if you'd notice. I thought I'd try it out, just the once. Earth traditions are so very fascinating, don't you agree?" Hime asks, with a smile as golden as the sun. "I should probably warn you – I'm about to turn around to do the dishes. I _do_ hope you enjoy your shower."

* * *

 _A/N: Morning Suguri best Suguri._


	5. The Fanservice Episode, Frankly

_A/N: The joke of this chapter's title is that everybody in the discord server I run was watching Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid, an anime about (surprise surprise) a dragon who is a maid. It's great, by the way. Anyway, they have a beach episode with this title, and I lifted it for my own beach episode because why not._

* * *

Suguri was not, particularly, a fan of the ocean. The raw power of her body was enough to dissuade concerns about breathing, and even the thousands of atmospheres worth of pressure to a certain extent, but she was all too aware that in the Great War, humanity had been rather more focused on how to litter the sea with mines than with how to get them back out again. Even with her abilities, clean up had been a long, dangerous process, and more still might be lurking in the dark, unknown pockets of the deep. There was no way to know.

As a result, she wasn't quite as enthused by the idea of a summer beach trip as Hime had been. There were upsides, of course. The sea breeze was one of Suguri's favourite things; part of her believed that she had been a seagull in her past life. She was also partial to the building and subsequent destruction of elaborate sandcastles, to symbolise the artifices of man returning to the bosom of the ocean.

There was, however, an additional factor in Suguri's decision to attend the beach day, although she had every intention of denying it when it inevitably came up. A week prior she had spotted Hime sneaking into the house in the earlier hours, armed with a two-piece bikini that was a shade below scandalous but still firmly in the daring category. She hadn't been able to get a good look at it, but she was fairly sure it was frilly, and a Hime with frills was relevant to her interests to say the least. Also relevant to Suguri's interests, in no particular order, were: Hime running barefoot along the sands and giggling; Hime standing waist-deep in the ocean with sunlit golden hair and her beautiful wings reflected against the rolling waves; and hitting watermelons with sticks. (Some pleasures were too simple to be denied).

Upon reaching the beach, the pair had retired to the changing rooms, and Suguri had shrugged on her own swimsuit. It wasn't too flattering, although it wasn't as though she had much to flatter; Suguri was built for speed, with lean, defined muscles in her shoulders and her back. Her long hair did, however, mean she could get away with a halter top without anybody staring too much, and all she needed after that was a pair of shorts. Shorts, mercifully, were easy to shop for; usually, shopping for swimwear ranked at number six in the top ten list of Suguri's Biggest Waking Nightmares. She just had very defined tastes, and nobody seemed to appreciate grey swimsuits with a single stripe on them as much as she did.

Having changed much faster than Hime (as usual), Suguri looked out at the fine, pale sands and resolved that before the day was over, she would achieve her life's ambition of making a sand castle that she could fit inside. But the day was long, and she was fast; there would be time for castle-building later. Now was the time of garishly striped towels and beach umbrellas that consistently threatened to fall over, and she wasted no time in installing hers in the middle of the beach. By the time the others arrived, Suguri had already acquired flip flops, novelty sunglasses and the beginnings of a tan, and was busy lying face down on her beach towel like a fried egg with a grey, fluffy yolk.

"Hey, shortie. You didn't bring your luggage with you?"

Suguri tilted her head upwards and saw Nanako, who was hefting a beach bag almost as big as she was. As always, she seemed a touch bitter; Suguri sometimes had problems getting along with her, although Hime was of the opinion that Nana just enjoyed grousing as a way to vent stress,

"Ah, you've arrived. If by 'luggage' you meant Hime, she's still changing," Suguri replied peacefully, looking Nana up and down. The diminutive soldier had gone for a violet one-piece that was more cute than it was dignified, although Suguri guessed that there weren't that many alluring outfits available for somebody of Nanako's size. Some impish part of her decided to push that button a little. "...I was sure you'd be wearing a school swimsuit, though."

"I don't care what you idiots say. I'm not in ninth grade! I am a _professional soldier_ with a number of completed campaigns –"

"And a record of losing to me in sword fights."

"– and a record of losing to you in sword fights because you _cheat_ by having such long arms –"

"I can't control how long my arms are."

"I can't control how tall I am! I looked _everywhere_ for a nice, mature-looking swimsuit but I got landed with this frilly, cutesy mess while _Kae_ , Kae looks like she's trying to dam the Victoria Falls with a picket fence, just spilling out everywhere and _argh!_ "

Nanako threw herself on the sand in frustration, before rolling over and affixing Suguri with a dangerous, steely glare.

"You and me, we should form an alliance. Did you know that being short used to make you a sex symbol? It's true! I dug out some old music from before that stupid war you guys had, and all they ever sing about is shorties. 'Shortie, you so hot! Shortie, get low! Shortie got me spending the benjamins!' All stuff like that. We could rule together."

Suguri arranged her face into a peaceful, innocent smile. "I'll form an alliance with you. But you have to accept me as the leader."

"...What would your first order be?" Nanako asked, eyes narrowing.

"To go and explain to Kae why, in detail, you've been staring at her chest for long enough to construct similes about it."

"Tch. No dice," the girl said, and rolled over to face the other way. "I hate arguing with you. It always makes me so tired. I just wanna sit down and relax afterwards."

Suguri sighed, and very gently patted Nanako on the head, expecting her to jerk her head away at any moment. Her hair was surprisingly soft and healthy; evidently she took good care of it.

"...Your swimsuit doesn't look awful. Tell me where you got it next time," Nana said after a while.

"Yes, yes."

Perhaps, in an alternative world, the moment would have continued. The sounds of the waves against the shores, of seagulls chattering overhead, would have lulled Nanako into an easy sleep. She would have awoken hours later, sunburnt on the side of her that was peeking out from Suguri's lopsided beach umbrella, and her absolute incandescent rage would have been mollified by memories of Suguri gently fussing with her hair.

Alas, this would have had to been an alternative world where Kae did not exist and was not the greatest source of noise on the beach. She charged along, a beach umbrella under one arm, kicking up a stream of flying sand with her footsteps, yelling at the top of her voice – and the top of her voice was taller than some mountains. Suguri took a glance in her direction and immediately regretted it; Nanako had _not_ been joking when she talked about spillage. She looked just long enough to feel vaguely jealous before turning away, which was just as well, because the next thing Kae did was launch herself through the air in a beautiful parabolic arc toward their location. She hit with the force of a small explosive, planting her beach umbrella into the ground like a sword and distributing a fine layer of sand over the face and body of every person in a 100 metre radius.

"Safe!" the redhead yelled, flashing a peace signal to her two friends.

Suguri, drawing on over 10,000 years of life experience, had wisely made the decision to close her eyes and mouth. Nanako had not, and was in the delicate process of trying to make death threats while excavating roughly a tenth of the beach from her lungs. She was having little success with either, but this made no difference to Kae, who had already thrown herself at Suguri for a full-body hug. After a relatively minor but confusing scuffle, they came to a rest with Kae's warm cheek pressed gently against Suguri's navel.

"Ahahahaha! It's been so long since I saw you, Sugi! What are you doing lying around? You should be playing volleyball! Summer is all about friendly competition!"

Suguri had come to two conclusions, neither of which was about volleyball. The first was that Kae was part puppy, and had to express that by nuzzling people to death. The second was that Kae's swimsuit had more in common with a coat of paint on a car than with an actual piece of fabric designed for human beings.

Bravely extricating herself from Kae's embrace, Suguri put on her responsible adult voice. "Ah... I think if we played volleyball, one of us would have a malfunction."

Kae gave a thumbs up. She often gestured as she spoke, with enough ferocity to put any angry waiter to shame. "Don't worry, don't worry! This body was built to last!"

"I'll play volleyball with you, Kae," Nanako seethed, her eyes flashing pure murderous intent. "But I get to use my bits as well, since you're so _tall,_ and, and _buxom_. And if I win,you have to be quiet for one hour for every point I won by."

"Uuuu... That doesn't seem fair. But I don't ever see Nana this fired up. What to do...? Aha! I know! If I win, I get to dress Nana up however I want for the rest of the day!"

Both girls looked at Suguri, who sighed and nodded. "Alright. I've witnessed the conditions of the bet. Play fair, you two. Or mostly fair, anyway."

Almost before she had finished speaking the two were away, trading verbal jabs and actual lasers with impunity. Suguri watched them become dots in the sky, and wondered how exactly they intended to play volleyball without a net. It didn't matter, she supposed; Nanako was spoiling for a fight more than anything, and Kae would be more than willing to give her one.

"Oh, my. Are those two at it already? I don't know if they get along badly or a bit too well," a voice remarked from behind Suguri's shoulder. It was warm, cheerful, as clear as song. Hime. "I'm also disappointed in you, Suguri. I look away for mere moments and another woman has captured your belly-button for herself."

Suguri tilted her head back to take a long, upside-down look at Hime and her swimsuit. There were ruffles. There was a black and gold high neck bikini top and a black sarong cut just low enough to show the delicate lines leading down from the hips. There was a dry smile on Hime's face which probably meant Suguri was being a little too obvious. "Aha. Well, you were changing for quite a while," she said, clearing her throat.

"True enough. No matter. I shall just have to win back your heart with delicious ice cream," Hime replied, leaning down to hand Suguri a scoop. Had she been carrying ice cream cones, Suguri wondered? Her eyes had definitely been elsewhere. "It's a shame that Saki, Iru and Kyoko couldn't make it."

"Mm," Suguri nodded. Especially since those three were generally much less erratic than Nanako and Kae were.

"Well, I was more worried about Nana and Kae in the first place. The others have spread out a little and started to explore, but I don't think those two have found what they really want from this planet yet..."

Suguri frowned. This was one of those moments that seemed to demand a sensitive, emotional response, and she didn't have one ready. The words always seemed to elude her, as surely as she eluded bullets and lasers. "We can take care of them for a while longer," she replied. It wasn't quite the response she had wanted to give, but it was the one she had to settle for.

"I suppose I should stop being a mother hen. Speaking of, are you wearing sunscreen?"

"Was that why you took so long changing? You were putting on sunscreen?"

"Very good! Gold star for Suguri," Hime said with a grin, and sat down beside her on the sand. "My skin is so pale from being in the spaceship all those years that I have to be careful with it. You didn't answer my question, though."

"I don't really need it. My skin never tans or burns. And I have no intention of leaving this umbrella, anyway."

"Oh, that's ridiculous. I'm sure you'll want to play in the sun at some point. Here, roll over and I'll do your back for you," Hime said, with an expression of perfect innocence that guaranteed she was up to something.

"Don't worry. I can do it myself."

"Oh my, how impressive. How flexible and dexterous you must be!" Hime replied, with a gleam in her eye. "Incidentally, how good are you at rope escape?"

Suguri sighed. The answer, of course, was 'not good enough to get out of Binding Chains'. She grunted and rolled over in deference to Hime's passionate advocacy of responsible skincare. With a satisfied giggle, Hime scooted across and sat on her.

"Hime? You're sitting on my butt."

"Yes, I'm quite aware."

"Is there any reason?"

"You sit on it all the time. It seemed the obvious place."

The logic was flawless, and Suguri couldn't refute it. Instead, she just closed her eyes and appreciated the breeze rolling in from the sea. Hime, meanwhile, busied herself with scooping up armfuls of long, silver hair and moving it away from Suguri's back.

"Ooh. Nice definition," Hime murmured as she began to work damp fingertips around the muscles of Suguri's shoulders. Suguri said nothing, and was trying very hard to think nothing as well; for all her efforts to approximate a plank of wood, she wasn't having much luck. She tried closing her eyes and allowing the sound of the waves to fill her mind.

"Hey." Suguri was surprised to hear her own voice. She hadn't particularly planned to say anything.

"Mm?"

"Why is this so important to you?"

Hime tilted her head a little in thought, but her hands continued to insinuate themselves against Suguri's muscles like the ocean licking at the sands. "Oh, well. A few reasons. It's part of the beach experience, I suppose, to rub sunscreen on somebody's back. Spaceships, in general, are not equipped with beach facilities, and water is a precious resource. We never got sun tans. We never wore swimsuits. Hm... How do I put it? For you, Suguri, this might not be a special occasion, but for me, and for Kae and Nanako as well, it has the taste of a kind of life we were never allowed by circumstance to lead."

"I see." The sound of the waves seemed to blend with the words and give them a strange, mystical texture. Hime's hands crept down the plains of her back and then returned to her shoulders, in a long, sinuous pattern.

"Another reason is that you've been so patient with us, Suguri, and with me in particular. To have had you here to welcome us to this strange, wide-open world has meant more than I can say. Sometimes I just want to spoil you a little in return. This doesn't feel bad, right?"

The only response Suguri could conjure was a non-committal but vaguely embarrassed little sound from the back of her throat; Hime met it with a sparkling laugh.

"Of course, that's a third reason. You're quite fun to tease, Suguri. You're so very serious all the time, and you always try not to react but do anyway."

"And is that why you tease me so much?"

Hime took a moment to to coat her hands with a little more lotion. "Would you prefer a short and fun answer, or a long and serious one?"

"Well," Suguri replied dryly, "Since I'm such a serious person, I'll take the serious answer."

"I thought as much." Hime's hands had drifted as low as Suguri's waist; her movements were slower, lingering, and her words matched. "I've lived for ten thousand years, Suguri. You know how long that is. But for the vast majority of that time, I've lived in the same, tiny place. The same days, the same faces, endlessly repeating. Oh, Suguri. I used to look at those travellers who we brought to Earth, and I could take apart their faces and say what belonged to their great, great grandfathers, where the family trees had crossed, that kind of thing. In a restricted pool like that, there are only so many genes you can have, you know? Only so many faces, so many combinations."

Suguri said nothing. If there was one thing she was good at, it was that.

"Well, at any rate, if you live for too long like that, time starts to... blend together, just a touch. More than a touch. For a long, long while, it felt like I was living the same day over and over. Like time had stopped, for me. Just for me. But then we saw Earth on our horizons, with that horrible man at the helm. The only reason I didn't stop him earlier was because I assumed he would die of old age before he got the chance to do any real damage, but... Anyway. Things started moving again. Now every day is different. There are so many people to meet, with so many faces I've never seen or dreamt of before. This world, this Earth of yours, is constantly spinning. In motion. I feel like that's so important."

"It's your Earth, too. Mm. That feels nice." Hime was tracing circles with her thumbs across the edges of Suguri's hips; she gave a satisfied little sigh and applied herself to the task with more gusto.

"I suppose it is, at that. But, Suguri. Sometimes when I look at you, I feel... I feel like your time stopped somewhere on the way, too. Some days you wake up, and you wear the same face all day. It's... Well, I don't think it's good to do that. And anyway, I'm childish and selfish. I want to see all the different faces you can make, Suguri, not just the one you use all the time. That's why I tease you from time to time. To stop the moments from blending. I'm hoping that one day, I won't even have to tease you; you'll just wake up and smile, and blush, and laugh by yourself instead of keeping that same face."

"And what will you do then?" Suguri asked. Her voice was sleepy. Her body was sleepy. She felt like she was talking in a dream.

"Well... I'll probably keep teasing you. But perhaps I won't be joking about it. Your back is done, by the way," Hime replied, and stood up. "Of course, I could always do your front for you, if you'd like."

Suguri didn't need to look to know that Hime was wearing a devious grin. But she stood up and looked anyway. After all the talk of keeping the same face, she realised that perhaps she hadn't been paying enough attention to Hime's. "If I said yes, would you do it?"

Hime blinked, and for a moment a flash of colour spread into her pale cheeks; but it was just for a moment. "You could always take your chances and find out."

"I'll pass."

"Oh, boo. It's rude to raise a lady's hopes and then dash them."

Suguri found, as she had always found, that there were moments in life when it was necessary to trust one's body over one's brain. Decisions could not always be taken with a full set of information on which to base rationale, and anyway, there were sometimes sensations that the brain filtered out of conscious experience but still registered on a smaller level, and those could be as indicative of oncoming danger as any larger portents. She couldn't quite tell what prompted her to move as she did, but in that moment she was absolutely sure that the correct course of action was to launch herself towards Hime, scoop up her friend in her arms, and clear the next six feet of ground as soon as possible. She had cleared the first three feet when Kae and Nanako barrelled out of an empty sky at a speed that beggared belief and crashed into the beach, sending a plume of sand skyward.

" _One, two, three, four, I win the THUUUMB WAAAAAR!_ " Kae howled, lifting Nanako into the air by one arm like a referee lifting a boxer's arm in victory. "Hey, hey, Big Sis Hime! Do you think Nana would look better as a punk rocker, or with cat ears?"

"Go with whatever your heart tells you, Kae," Hime said indulgently. "But remember: when it comes to cat ears, proper etiquette demands a tail as well."

Nana, although her eyes were more inclined to look in different directions to one another in that moment in time, still had the wherewithal to look at Hime lounging in Suguri's arms and ask, in a very groggy voice, "Am we... Was I... Is we... Inter'pting somethink?"

"Oh, nothing that we can't continue later," Hime said with a wink, climbing down.

"She means 'no, nothing'," Suguri deadpanned. "I don't suppose you two would like to put the beach back where it belongs?"

"Nope!" Kae said proudly, conspicuously not looking at giant crater she had left.

Suguri sighed. "I suppose we'll pick a different beach next year. It's about time to split the watermelon. Would you go and fetch it?"

Kae had vanished before the sentence was finished. Hitting things with sticks was very much a Kae thing, and she dragged Nanako along in her wake. Suguri didn't expect her to come back with one watermelon; rather, she expected to see her juggling three. As the two departed, Hime gave Suguri a nudge.

"Next year, hm? I don't recall discussing a second trip."

"Well, it hasn't been a bad day. I want to make a sandcastle next time."

"Oh, yes. There's still things the beach has to offer us. I was planning to bury you up to your neck in the sand and then poke your cheeks."

"...Don't make me change my mind."

A year, Suguri thought, had always been such a short time. That was the problem. Time didn't freeze, as Hime said; it just went faster and faster while you weren't looking, and for all her speed Suguri had never been able to catch up with it. You blinked, and the Earth had come to the same spot again, and all that had changed was the year. But here, today, she blinked: the Earth remained where it was, and the year was the same, but her friends were wearing different expressions. It hadn't been a bad day, here at the beach.

It hadn't been a bad day at all.

* * *

 _A/N: The ending to this is kinda abrupt, mainly because I'm still not used to doing stories this long yet (still getting back into practice...) and I really just wanted to move on. I'm not a professional, so I can do that. (The other joke to this episode's title is that there's a bunch of introspection where fanservice would normally be.)_


	6. Lazy Sunday

_A/N: So, occasionally, I have been known to get entirely sidetracked by an extended tangent and then write a story around it. This might just be one of those times._

* * *

It was a lazy Sunday. Well, it would have been. It was a curious phenomenon; before Suguri met Hime, every Sunday was a lazy Sunday. It was the only flavour of Sunday available. You could perhaps make a call to the manager of the Sunday store and ask her to stock new and innovative varieties of Sunday, and she would simply push up her metaphorical glasses and say, "Our consumer data says that Lazy Sundays are the best selling Sunday by far. Do you know how many Lazy Sundays are being consumed worldwide? In fact, we have a 100% takeup rate. Why would we stock anything else, given that everybody loves Lazy Sundays so much?"

Well, you would say, Lazy Sundays are very nice and nobody is denying that, but a change is as good as a rest, isn't it? There's nothing wrong with trying just a little something new every once in a while to see if you like it. The store manager would look at you, check the data on her phone (which looks suspiciously _not_ like actual data and more like a candy-based puzzle game) and say, "Sorry, but it just wouldn't be profitable for us. If you want Sundays, you'll just have to abide by the ones we have, or check with one of our competitors. By the way, the only ones we have are lazy ones, and our competitors don't exist."

So, defeated, you would slink back to your bed for an enforced lie-in of at least two hours, followed by shuffling about to make an easy breakfast so you could count as being awake at noon. It was the only choice.

Until, of course, Hime appeared. Hime had taken the world of Sunday selling by storm, mainly because she was from Space, and Space's idea of a Sunday was very different. Mainly it didn't exist, because having seven days of the week when you _weren't_ on a chunk of rock hurtling through space around the day's namesake seemed a little silly.

In the end, Hime had bravely purged any and all traces of the insidious Lazy Sunday from Suguri's home, because Lazy Sundays bored her and there were few things as dangerous as Hime when she was bored. It brought out her impish streak, which was a mile wide and twice as long, with every step being a new and embarrassing hazard for anybody trying to walk the path. She was a master at unexpected teasing, a 2nd Dan at dry retorts, an unrelenting agent of whimsy that spread her missive of mischief as far as her arms would allow.

In short, Hime had not sat in the core of a spaceship for 10,000 years so she could be bored and sleep in all day. She did, at least, come fully furnished with helpful suggestions for things that would entertain her and keep everybody within an arm's reach of their sanity.

"Suguri, let's go visit Saki today."

Suguri sucked the top of her pen. She was valiantly wrestling with the crossword puzzle, which she knew from experience was harder than wrestling a polar bear. There were things printed words on a sheet of tree pulp could do to your brain that even half a ton of raw ursine muscle and carnivorous intent couldn't.

"I do enjoy Saki's company," she murmured, in between scrawling "apotheosis" into the little box with her childish, loopy handwriting.

"Of course you do. She's blonde, homeless, and hilariously dangerous. You have a track record with that kind of girl, you know," Hime said. Hime was currently draped across the loveseat, her head lolling over the arm, looking at Suguri upside down. Her hair was hanging down; her forehead was formidable.

"One girl does not constitute a track record. Ooh, constitute. I think that fits. Anyway, even if I enjoyed myself, what would you do?"

"Gossip about old times, braid each other's hair, debase myself for baked goods. It has all the makings of a fun afternoon!"

Suguri sighed, and shut her newspaper. It was a reluctant admission of defeat; even her smallest, squigliest handwriting had not managed to compress 'recalcitrant' into a space meant for four letters. "Yes, well. Last I heard, Saki was in Brazil. Even with our speed, we'd struggle to fly to Brazil in less than twelve hours."

Hime pouted. Or perhaps not. Hime was very good at pouting without actually pouting. She would imply a pout, and that made them all the more effective because she could still retain the appearance of being refined and sanguine while being childish. "Oh, boo. I know! Let's hire out a rowboat. We can enjoy a day on the water. Me, you, the sunshine, dragonflies, reeds, lilypads, krakens..."

Aside from the fact that Hime didn't seem to know if she wanted to sail down the River Nile or straight down into the cold, pressurised depths of the ocean, Suguri had some private objections to that plan. Firstly, she thought Hime had spent enough time on boats. A spaceship, according to Suguri, was just a boat that happened to be in space. According to Hime, it was a ship, because a boat had to have oars, and could you imagine trying to paddle to Neptune? Neither one of them was correct, but both of them were very passionate about it.

Secondly, Suguri had recently brought home a bookshelf. (She didn't know quite how she'd done it. She acquired furniture the same way that people acquired lost puppies; it just sort've appeared at her ankles one day and she picked it up and fussed it and gave it a loving home). She had donated it to Hime, and kept a semi-close eye on the contents. In the last two weeks, it had accrued a number of books about pirates, and Suguri thought that Hime might not be able to resist an opportunity to swash some buckles.

"Why don't you take a look at your unfinished knitting projects?" Suguri asked, jerking her head towards the corner. The corner was dominated by a sprawling jungle of worsted spread, in a variety of beautiful pastel colours. Last time Suguri had checked, Hime had been working on a shapeless bundle of cloth that she described as 'a scarf, but it's a very postmodern kind of scarf.'

Hime winced. "Aha. I think I'll leave that for today. One day, I shall have needlework that strikes wonder into the hearts of the gods themselves, but I have thousands of years to attain that skill, so I needn't be in a hurry."

Suguri smiled to herself. She had knit, on and off, for a stretch of fifty years in her ten thousand year life, but Hime was adamant about learning to do it herself. The next time Hime went to stay with Kyoko, Saki or Iru, Suguri fully intended to knit her a nice sweater to see the reaction. (Suguri had also, in her past, spent a long time wrangling various 'postmodern' knitted garments back into wearable shape, with questionable success.)

"Hah… That still doesn't solve the problem of what to do. Suguri, do you mind if I spoon feed you three tubs of chocolate fudge ice cream? I feel like that will bring us both closer to enlightenment."

In Suguri's opinion, the only thing eating three tubs of ice cream in a row would enlighten her of was her lunch. She took the suggestion as the warning shot that it was. It was time to unveil her secret weapon.

"Hime, how much do you like loud noises?"

"I'm not really a huge fan," Hime said, conveniently forgetting that she was sometimes a steady source of loud noises.

"Okay. How much do you like Kae?"

"I feel like you just asked the same question twice but in different ways. Oh well. I suppose it depends on how you serve her – rare, medium or well done?"

"Anything less than well done wouldn't even singe that one. Anyway, she recently made some friends who are also loud and have guitars, and sent us some free tickets."

"Free tickets! Those are the best kind," Hime replied wryly. "Oh, but what shall I wear? My wardrobe is rather light on ripped t-shirts and spiked collars, although that could be addressed. Will we need to daub ourselves with eyeliner and draw stars on our faces, do you think?"

With that, Hime launched herself from the loveseat, pleased with the itenerary of the day. It was a fine one. There would be loud noises and moshing, which, in Hime's understanding, was like dancing except it incorporated violence, and thus was a fusion of two things she was rather good at. There would also be Kae, who would most likely be louder than the band, but always a source of fun.

Suguri watched her go, pleased with her work. Although crossword mastery still eluded her, Hime was happy and not sowing gentile chaos in the surrounding area, which was victory enough. Unlike Hime, though, Suguri knew exactly what she would be wearing to Kae's concert.

Earplugs.

* * *

 _A/N: Things I had to research while writing this chapter: the average flight time between Japan and Brazil. Things I already knew: the average weight of a male polar bear. Part of this hobby is accruing bizarre, worthless knowledge that you never knew you would need until the exact second you need it, and which becomes entirely useless from that point on._

 _Also, if you're interested in seeing these OJ stories fresh off the presses, as it were, check my profile for a link to my blog and twitter, where they usually appear long before I get around to editing them and posting them in batches on FF net._


	7. Slumber

_A/N: Finally, Sora is introduced into the bizarre metaplot that ended up happening in these stories. Sora, by the way, is my favourite and therefore the objectively best girl. Except for Hime, who is also best girl. Praise Hime! \o/_

* * *

An aching head. Heavy limbs. Too heavy. She can't lift her feet. No strength. Words have colours. Sounds are more than sounds.

"...it can't hurt."

Strange words. A strange place. All she remembers is a blue sky. Endless. The black clouds were beneath her. Satisfaction. Her heart was beating fast.

"She _did_ attack us for no reason…"

The world is soft, blurred at the edges. The sounds are soft. How long has it been since her heart beat like that? Yesterday, a thousand years ago. How many years since her eyes were open, since her ears could hear?

"She had reasons. We just don't understand them. She's one of this planet's legends, Hime."

"Well, I can't deny her strength…"

The world is slowly drawing into focus. Her body is remembering. She is awake. Painfully, painfully awake. Covered by a duvet. So heavy. She remembers blankets being thinner, in her day. Not as luxurious. There was no luxury in the military. No choice.

"...She feels a little like you, Suguri. You, but broken."

"It's not surprising. My power was created to restore the planet she saved. We share a purpose. Probably a design, too."

She rolls over, her arms trembling. She's so hungry. So exhausted. Her throat is sore. How long was she asleep this time? A day, a week, a year?

"Ahahaha." A laugh, like fingers across piano keys. "I suppose so. The resemblance really is striking. I don't know what I shall do with two of you."

"...You're agreeing, then?"

"Oh, why not. The more the merrier. I would have preferred a puppy, but a girl is fine too."

Footsteps, very quiet. A light rumbling, somewhere far away, gives way to a whistle. Not the long, sustained drone of a military alarm, but a wavering cry, almost like a strong wind. Sudden desire grips her; she wants to see the blue sky. She wants to fly again.

"I wonder, though… Is cocoa really going to be enough?"

"They built them tough back then."

More footsteps. Padding, the clap of plastic soles on tiled floor, a compression of silk. It's those things civilians wear at home. Slippers. That's what they were called. Water pouring into a cup, a spoon clinking against ceramics. The sounds make sense. She remembers this.

"Is she awake?"

"Maybe. She strikes me as a heavy sleeper."

"Hilarious, Suguri. Original, too."

"I try."

She tries to answer them. She's not sure what she's trying to say – something lucid, cogent perhaps – but it comes out as a long, rasping groan. She feels like she's not had a drink in years. She realises that she's right. The duvet lifts, and she faces an unfamiliar ceiling.

"Hello, Sora. We met yesterday," Suguri says. Long, grey hair. Lithe body. The spitting image of herself. Apart from the eyes. Such focused eyes. "Here. Careful – it's hot."

The girl presses a warm mug to her lips. The smell of chocolate. Memories of childhood. She sips, and tastes only heat.

"What happened?" Her voice is a croak. She remembers a battle in the sky, her anger waxing hot. She had shouted a lot. Probably unwisely.

The girl smiles. Smiles. So rare, in the war. So full of wonder. "You overdid it. Flying around without eating or drink after so long was pushing it. Fighting us was too much."

"I should say so. I still have the bruises. Blaming us for some snow clouds… There's a limit to how audacious you can be, you know," another voice says. It rings, like bells, clear and beautiful. The girl appears from the kitchen, and she remembers her from yesterday: blonde hair, wings of light, a phantom's grace.

She tells them she's sorry. Whatever half-words come out of her throat, her face carries the message.

The blonde girl laughs again, not unkindly. "Well, it was an amusing diversion, so I can forgive it this time. My name is Hime, just in case you forgot."

"I'm Suguri. This is our home," the grey-haired girl explains. Suguri. An important name.

"Be careful of this one," Hime says, folding herself into a wicker chair a few feet away. "She collects blondes."

"...A pervert?"

Suguri rolls her eyes. "One is not a collection. Hime likes to tease."

It feels like an understatement. The war was full of them, things commanders said that soldiers had to translate. 'Strong enemy presence': a smaller war has broken out. 'Some risk of injury': you will almost certainly have less limbs at the day's end. 'We will provide long range support': we'll be coating the sky with missiles; please dodge them.

"Anyway… the world is different now. We don't want you to feel lost. Or alone. We talked it over, and we'd like you to stay with us for a while. As long as you'd like," Suguri says, and then adds, as an afterthought: "You can say no."

"Although I, for one, would love it if you said yes," Hime chimes in. "Suguri said you can have the beanbag, and I can come up and share the bed."

Suguri's eyes roll again; a quick flick skyward. "I'm installing a pillow wall, of course."

Hime says nothing, but her eyes betray a sparkling grin. All walls must fall, in time.

"You're… so lively," Sora says. She takes another sip of cocoa, and tastes the chocolate this time. She almost feels like laughing. She hasn't laughed in a long while.

"…Anyway, think it over. You can do what you like. We won't order you around," Suguri murmurs, and stands up. Her posture is a little rigid. Restrained.

"Wait."

For all her strength – for all that they called her the 'ultimate weapon' – the most Sora can manage is to catch Suguri's sleeve.

"…The war is over. The world is safe. What am I to do?"

Suguri turns, and her motion is quicker, more fluid; it's as though a dam has broken. Before she can protest, Sora finds herself being folded into a hug.

"I can't answer that," Suguri says, her fingers drifting through the tangle of Sora's hair. "It isn't my answer to give. Just live. Look around this peaceful planet. You'll find something. I promise."

Sora doesn't answer. She closes her eyes. No, she thinks. Despite their looks, despite their power, the difference between her and Suguri is like night and day. She was a soldier. She could never hug somebody like Suguri can. She doesn't have that kind of strength.

The world begins to blur at the edges, warm and comfortable, and she feels sleep stealing into her, filling the hollowness of her bones. She's never slept on a beanbag before. Probably better than the bunks she's used to.

With that thought on her mind, wrapped in a friend's embrace, she begins her first dream in a wide and warless world.

* * *

 _A/N: As always with a new character, I was still getting to know her when I wrote this._

 _Also, if you're interested in seeing these OJ stories fresh off the presses, as it were, check my profile for a link to my blog and twitter, where they usually appear long before I get around to editing them and posting them in batches on FF net._


End file.
